Stark Women Are Made Of Iron
by AlisraSkywall
Summary: Fem! Tony. Angst, some Stony, Tony-centric. Prompt: When she pondered so much she snaps, the world knows she's gone. Oneshot.
1. chapter 1

Just some angst in the POV of Fem! Tony Stark.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful woman living in New York.

Her name was Natasha Antoinette Stark.

She was Iron Woman, she was an Avenger. She was a genius, billionaire, player, philantrophist.

She lived in a tower, shadowing every building in New York. She had a personal A.I named Jarvis and the largest company in the world. She had three Nobel Prizes under her belt.

She ate only the finest of foods, drank only the finest of wines. She wore expensive jackets and Italian high heels. She carried a five-million dollar Hungarian leather-padded briefcase only because it looked nice. She had about twenty genuine Ming dynasty vases scattered around her home.

She had the government wrapped around her little finger. She had the highest-level technology the world was aware of. She had a titanium and vibranium superhero suit. She was smart enough to be able to find whatever nuclear codes she wanted. She had endless weapons in the storages.

She had a string of one-night-stands, and threesomes, and sex. She made out with whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted, because she liked it. She knew everyone who was someone.

She had connections, had eyes everywhere and ears everywhere else. She had everything there was to be had.

And yet she wasn't happy.

She didn't uderstand why. She knew she should have been satisfied.

She knew that something was wrong. Something was off.

She tried everything. New clothes, new security.

She met Captain America.

He was so different from her. She was snarky, spoiled, selfish. He was justified, perfect, kind.

And yet they became best friends.

She didn't know, couldn't know, what would happen.

Toni, he said one morning after coming back from his daily run, are we friends?

She spat her coffee back in her cup then, not knowing what he meant.

Of course, Steve! she cried. Are we not?

Yes, I know we are. he replied. I just wanted to know whether you thought so. But now I know!

And then he smiled a big smile, with sparkling shy crystal blue eyes, and perfectly messy blonde hair, and she felt her frozen, metal heart skip a beat.

She panicked. She wasn't supposed to be able to love. The sons and daughters of oh so wonderful Stark were made of iron. She wasn't supposed to be able to love.

She wasn't supposed to be able to love. She wasn't supposed to be able to love.

On and on, an endless cycle of fear and confusion. She pondered. She did research. She immersed herself in it.

She had a heart of steel. She had a chest of metal.

She wasn't supposed to be able to love.

On and in, an endless cycle of fear and confusion. On and on, until it drove her mad.

Now, people thought they understood her. She had saved the world countless times.

People took her or granted.

She couldn't break. They wouldn't let her. Because she was only human.

And humans, for they are ever so weak and fragile, will always have a breaking point.

And hers came.

depressionanxietyposttraumaticstressdisorderselfharminsomniaobsessivecompulsivedisorderalcoholismsuicidalthoughts

And so, my dear Reader, Natasha Antoinette Stark snapped.

When people saw her on the streets, they recoiled. For had she been as snarky, likeable, and funny as usual, they would have known.

It was like the flesh peeled off her bones, leaving only a skeleton, a shell, an empty, soulless husk of who used to be there.

She was now battle-scarred, hardened in the heat of the fortress she was constructed in. She no longer laughed or smiled.

And so the world understood what they had done.

They had killed her.


	2. An Update On My Life

Hello!

No, unfortunately I haven't died.

I understand I haven't touched any of my stories for a strange amount of time. It's not that I don't have any motivation, it's just that I'll be taking a potentially very long hiatus to write conpletely on Archive of Our Own.

I don't understand why, but I think it's because I find it a lot easier to write on that site. Ideas flow from my mind easier, and to be honest, I've been getting more positive support.

Because I don't choose to talk about my mental health a lot, people often don't know the whole story, and I figured it was about time I told some actual human beings.

I know some people receive help abd support because they pour out their feelings through their work, and while I do love angst, I don't write it full-time.

I prefer to bottle emotions, not let then out.

PMs and DMs are private, but people have said some hurtful things about my work, and I want to remind them that if you don't like it, it's your fault, not mine, and if you hate it so much don't read it!

There is something called Preferred Personal Writing Style, you know. My opinions and how I choose to write shouldn't affect you to the point of calling my work useless trash.

Even if I were as bad at writing as you say, which I could be and maybe I'm just not seeing it, I can still be a great person, even if I'm not the best in the world at writing.

I don't know how you tracked down my Ao3 account, perhaps I told you in a story and forgot, but please don't leave negative comments. It doesn't feel very good.

It feels even worse when you get a bookmark and are excited only to find out the Additional Notes section says ONLY BOOKMARKED BECAUSE I WANTED TO SHOW MY FRIENDS THAT STORIES THIS BAD DO EXIST AFTER ALL.

Things like this are what causes depression.

I have insomnia, and I used to be able to relax because I felt happy that people were giving me such awesome support. Now that's not really happening and even though it's gotten better, lack of sleep is still looming behind me.

And I want to say to user AnonymousForPrivateReasons, what you think about me doesn't matter.

You want me to be more open about my life? Fine. I'll be more open.

I'm a fifteen year old kid with depression, anxiety and PTSD, only recently recovering from insomnia. I live under a constant pressure from so-called "Parents" to be perfect and just stop my mental health problems. I have friends, but I can't trust them with any secrets because oh I so want to, but I don't know whether they'll turn on me and stab me in the back or not.

So, all you internet warriors, don't throw away your shot to actually be a good person. After all, you're just like your comments: young, scrappy abd hungry for drama.

Shoutout to whoever caught the reference.

If you want to check me out, NOT bring me down any further, my Ao3 account name is ninehundredthousandfinalwords and my Wattpad is superchrisevans.

My Instagram is 900000wordslefttosay. NOT ninehundredthousandfinalwords. Someone already took that name.

A pat on the back to anyone who goes through what I'm going through, and to those who hate me for being me, well, if you feel like joining the fight against depression anytime soon, I'm willing to wait for it. *wink*

Bye!

Love,

Lizzy


End file.
